


Falling Sideways

by redblueunderoos



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Concussions, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Peter Parker, Iron Dad, Irondad, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Pre-Infinity War, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting, peter Parker is having a real rough day, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redblueunderoos/pseuds/redblueunderoos
Summary: "Are you ok? Are you injured?”“N-No I’m all good cause I fell when I-I ran out of web fluid, but then, then this building caught me, so it’s all A-OK, M’st’r Stark.”“A building CAUGHT YOU? WHAT. DOES. THAT. MEAN.”“Don’t worry about it M’st’r Stark. I’m just gonna get up...” There was some muffled shuffling on the line and then a sharp yelp of pain echoed through the phone speaker.“PETER!” Tony was only met with radio silence from the other end of the line. “Peter? Answer me, please!” Nothing. Tony felt the swell of panic rise in his chest. Something was wrong; something was really wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic! This chapter is a little short, but I'm excited to post more real soon! Enjoy xx

Startled by his buzzing phone, Tony peeked out from behind a cluttered pile of metal and wire in his lab. He rubbed his eyes with one hand while reaching lazily for his phone.

Call from ‘Your favorite intern’

Tony smiled at the contact nickname Peter had added for himself. That kid drove him wild, but in a good way. Even if Tony would never admit it to anyone (he’s got a reputation to keep), he had a real soft spot for Peter. Tony answered the call.

“Hey Pete.” Tony glanced at the clock. “What are you doing at 2:43 am?”

“M’st’r Stark,” Peter slurred. “Its really really really nice to hear your voice.”

“Are you DRUNK??”

“NOO no no no Mr. Stark! Just really tired.” He paused. “Hey, that building’s sideways...wait, no, I’M sideways...”

Tony frowned. Peter wasn’t making any sense. “Pete. What’s going on?”

“Oh hey Mr. Stark!” Peter sounded surprised, like he’d forgotten he was on the phone. “What’s up?”

“You called me!” Tony sounded exasperated but he was growing worried. “F.R.I.D.A.Y update me. Get Karen to run vitals. Where’s he?”

“Karen is offline boss,” the AI informed. Tony’s heart dropped at the news.

“Pete? Tell me what’s going on kid? Why is Karen offline. I thought we talked about this, bud. Open communication, remember?”

Peter started rambling. “I think I ran outta web fluid and I don’t know where Karen went. Hey hey do you know how to get from Prospect Park to Queens ‘cause May’s gonna--she’s gonna kill me if I miss curfew and I-I think I’m a little lost and I can’t find the, uh, app on my phone the one that uh shows the buildings and road line things and everything’s just just a little blurry and I-I---“

“Whoa kid slow down! Are you ok? Are you injured?”

“N-No I’m all good cause I fell when I-I ran out of web fluid, but then, then this building caught me, so it’s all A-OK, M’st’r Stark.”

“A building CAUGHT YOU? WHAT. DOES. THAT. MEAN.”

“Don’t worry about it M’st’r Stark. I’m just gonna get up...” There was some muffled shuffling on the line and then a sharp yelp of pain echoed through the phone speaker.

“PETER!” Tony was only met with radio silence from the other end of the line. “Peter? Answer me, please!” Nothing. Tony felt the swell of panic rise in his chest. Something was wrong; something was really wrong. And he didn’t have a clear idea of what. He hated being out of the loop, which wasn’t something that happened very often. Hell, he didn’t know where the kid even was exactly. And, God, what if when he finally did find Peter after searching, it was too late. Or if this was all worse than Peter made out. The kid doesn’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to telling someone he needs help and shit. This is bad, this is so bad. 

A voice suddenly broke through Tony’s spiraling thoughts. “Boss, you are showing signs of a panic attack. Should I call for help?”

Only then did Tony recognize how tightly constricted his chest felt and the wheezing sounds of his breaths rushed to his ears.

“No! No, FRI,” he gasped. Not now, not now. Oh God, please not now. He did not have the time for a panic attack right now. Not when Peter was sick or hurt or worse.

Tony placed a steadying hand on the workbench and the other across the coolness of his arc reactor in an attempt to ground himself. Tony did his best to take deep breaths to calm himself down, but after a grand total three shallow gasps he gave up trying--opting ease his anxiety by getting to Peter as fast as possible.

2 minutes of blurry panic later, Tony found himself soaring above the New York skyline in Mark 47. Even at this late hour, taxis zoomed under street lamps and billboards flashed wildly in the city that never sleeps.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. you traced the call?”

“Yes, boss. It appears he is in downtown Brooklyn. Cell service was spotty, so I was unable to determine his exact location, but I have narrowed his location to a 1 mile radius.”

“Lead the way.”


	2. Lost in New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ugh,” Peter sank to his side, clutching his stomach. This day was the worst. It had been so good and now it was a terrible, awful, horrible, no good, very bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the events leading up to chapter 1, from Peter's POV

“Bye, Ned!” Peter waved to his best friend as he hurried down the front steps of the school. “See you tomorrow!”

“Bye dude! Stay safe out there!” Ned called. Peter smiled and shot him a thumbs up.

Today had been a good day. He’d aced his chem quiz, Flash hadn’t done more than just shoot him dirty looks all day, and MJ had lent him a pencil (not without the sarcastic remarks about his ill-preparedness, but still).

He couldn’t wait to go on patrol. Spider-man-ing was hands-down the favorite part of his day, everyday. I mean, what could possibly be better than swinging around New York, stopping bad guys, and getting the occasional free churro?

Ever since May had learned about Peter being Spider-Man, she had laid down some ground rules. He had to finish his homework before he patrolled and he had curfew at 11:00. May wanted him to know that grades and sleep and safety and all that good stuff came first, but she had been incredibly supportive and proud of her nephew. When she thought about it, who else would have made more sense to be hiding under the mask of Queen’s own hero than the most selfless and kind person she knew? Absolutely no one. Peter Parker was a hero through and through.

Peter hurried home, grabbed a snack from the kitchen, flipped open his math book, and got to work. Queens was waiting for him to hurry up and protect their butts from danger.

\--------

 

Peter swung through the towering heights of Queens. Tonight had been thrilling. He had a “crimes stopped” grand total of 2: He’d stoped a guy trying to steal a candy bar and an attempted purse snatcher. Oh! And he did save a cat stuck in a tree, so three. Three heroic acts.

Very excite. Much thrill. Many danger.

“Karen,” Peter sighed. He was sitting on the edge of a roof top near Delmar’s, swinging his legs back and forth like a little kid in a big chair. “This is so sad. I’ve been patrolling for hours. Where are the criminals? Aren’t the bad guys itching to do some bad guy stuff? Not that I am promoting crime! No news is good news, I guess.”

“Sorry Peter, nothing seems to be going on tonight in Queens.” The A.I. almost sounded sorry for him, but Peter couldn’t be sure. He didn’t think Tony would program his A.I. to be disappointed about the lack of criminal activity.

“Maybe all the criminals are stuck inside doing their taxes, ya know, it being April and all.”

“Yes, Peter. All the criminals are probably paying their taxes like all the other law-abiding citizens.”

“Was that sArCasM?” Peter grinned. “Wow Karen, how could you? Roasted by my own A.I.”

“Always here to help. Would you like me to extend my search radius? Maybe something big will come up in Brooklyn or Manhattan.”

“Yeah good idea! I’ve still got a couple hours before curfew.”

A minute later, and Karen had pulled up a map highlighting all the suspicious activity in Brooklyn.

“Looks like Brooklyn is very active in crime tonight, Peter. I am getting reports of a couple muggings and a pawn shop burglary among others.”

“Nice! I mean, ‘Oh no! Crime!’”

“Your ETA is 13 minutes.”

“Lead the way!”

\---------

 

Peter landed softly on the roof across from the pawn shop. From the outside, the closed shop looked calm and undisturbed. An outsider would think nothing was going on. But Peter could hear what was happening inside, and it sounded anything but calm.

He could make out a terrified and frantic voice, who he assumed was the store’s owner. And two other distinctly aggressive voices.

“Karen, I’m thinking there are three people in there. What does the heat signature look like?”

“Heat signature shows three alive persons inside the shop.”

“Ok, let’s do this!”

Peter swung down from the roof top, spring air blowing cooly on his face even through the mask. He landed lightly and creaked open the front door, which had been left slightly ajar after the robber’s had busted the lock.

“Peter, they are the back room where the safe is.” Peter opted not to respond to keep his cover quiet, but he heeded her advice, jumping to the ceiling to cover the store floor as stealthily as possible. It was a lot less easy to accidentally knock something over and make a huge racket if there was nothing in your way but ceiling lights and little emergency sprinklers.

Peter crawled across the ceiling and then through the top of the doorway to the back room. There, he saw two burly men holding guns at a third man who was fumbling at the safe and rambling frantically in a heavy Brooklyn accent.

“Honest t-to God guys. I don’t know the code. I don’t, I don’t, I swear I don’t! Leo’s out at his sister’s wedding and he don’t trust me with that shit. I’m just in charge of the last shift and locking up. Honest! Leo don’t trust me. I-I don’t got access to his money. I gave you all the cash I got upfront.”

The shorter masked robber cocked his gun. Peter had heard enough.

“So the darkest hour is just before the Pawn...shop closes,” Peter quipped as he jumped down from the ceiling.

The two robbers swung around, clearly startled. Peter webbed up their guns so fast they had no time to blink. He then tied them up and gave the store clerk a hand at getting up.

“Shouldn’t you two be at home filing your taxes? A lengthy criminal record does NOT increase your chances of getting a tax rebate,” Pete continued as he disarmed their guns. “But then, what do I know, I’m only a kid! Ok, bye guys!”

Peter spun and sprinted out of the store, not waiting for a response from the three shocked faces behind him. He glanced back. “Don’t forget to call the police!” he called and swung into the dimly lit street and out of sight.

\---------

 

The next on Peter’s agenda was a mugging. There seemed to always be muggings across New York and it didn’t take long for him to come across someone in need of help.

Down a darkened alleyway, just a block away from a well lit street, Peter spotted a guy pinning a woman up to a brick apartment wall. He was holding a knife up to her throat, his fingers so tightly wound about the blade’s handle that his knuckles were stark white. His voice was low and dangerous.

“Money. Now. Don’t you dare scream.”

It took one look at the terrified woman’s face for Peter to swing immediately into action. She was shaking uncontrollably and her lips were pressed in a tight line to stop herself from screaming. She was fumbling for her purse, but her shaking hands and the blade pressed into her neck made it hard to comply.

Peter swung down and, in the same instant, webbed the knife up, snatching it out of the mugger’s hands and tossed it away. He landed with the echo of the knife skidding down the ally reverberating around the three of them.

At the release of the hand pinning her to the wall, the woman gasped and sunk against the wall for a moment, before taking the distraction as a chance to sprint off.

“Hey dude,” Peter snapped at the guy, “International Women’s Day was last month. Have you learned nothing about treating people with respect?” He raised his hand to web the guy to the wall, but was stoped by a loud bang and a shiver of sharp pain up his side.

Peter had expected the knife. He hadn’t expected the gun.

\----------

 

The force and shock of the bullet ripping through his abdomen at near point-blank range caused Peter to stumble backwards. His hands grasped for his stomach and were quickly covered in sticky red. He found himself involuntary falling to his knees, a small pained gasp escaping his lips as he hit the ground. He thought he heard the worried voice of Karen in his ear, but he couldn’t focus on her words.

“Some hero,” the mugger laughed. A cold, menacing laugh. He kicked Peter in the ribs, shoving him further into the ground, Peter choked back a scream.

He was in pain. Every slight movement felt as though someone was ripping through his insides with a knife. It was all he could do to just breathe. His body was screaming at him to just stop stop stop. But bullet wound or not, no one got away on Spider-Man’s watch.

_Come on. Come on Spider-man. ‘Tis but a scratch. This jerk IS NOT getting away._

With a grunt of pain, Peter pushed himself, shot his arm out and webbed the mugger up just as he was trying to get away. Peter stood up, staggering under the force of his own weight and webbed the guy to the wall.

“You have a lot of work to do,” Peter gasped, “with learning how to act like a gentleman. May I suggest a manner’s school, or I don’t know-- _jail_?” Each word took a considerable amount of effort, but Peter wasn’t gonna let this jerk ruin his day by shooting him and taking away his trademark moment. No siree. As far as Peter was considered, Spider-man would say his sarcastic quip if it was the last thing he ever said.

Once Peter was sure that the jerk who shot him (I mean, how _rude_  is that) was securely stuck to the wall with no viable means of escape, he took a deep breath, braced himself, and swung onto a nearby rooftop. Here he was away from the street and prying eyes and could sit down, examine his wound, and catch his breath.

He flopped down on the roof, wincing, and leaned against a vent, breathing heavily from the effort. He looked down at the wound. It was dark and still bleeding and _god, how much blood do people have because this is a lot._  But nothing he hadn’t been through before. Being Spider-man equaled injuries, but man they _really really suck._  Without another thought, like he had so many times before, he quickly webbed up the wound to stop the bleeding. The action brought a new wave of pain and Peter felt suddenly nauseous, but in a minute the wave had passed.

As he slowly came through the cloud of pain and back to his senses, he heard a voice calling his name.

“Karen?”

“Peter! You’ve been severely injured. Your vitals are terrible. You need immediate medical attention. I am gonna contact Mr. Stark.”

Peter froze. “No! No don’t. I’m honestly good. I just webbed it up. And quick healing, remember? I’ll be good as new in a few hours, I promise. Mr. Stark will just worry.”

“Peter, not contacting Mr. Stark goes against my every precaution. Are you sure?”

Even though Peter and Tony had grown a lot closer recently, Peter hated to bother Tony, especially in the middle of the night. He knew that Tony barely got any sleep, and on the off chance that Tony was sleeping when Peter called, he would feel absolutely awful for waking him. And even if he wasn’t asleep, Tony Stark was a busy man who couldn’t be pulled away from his work just because some local kid who had randomly acquired powers needed a bandaid. Thinking otherwise would be selfish. And Peter was ok anyway. He needed to prove to Tony that he could be ok and handle super-hero-ing. So as much as Peter wanted to say, “No, call him please,” all that came out of his mouth was. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”

“Karen, I wanna go home.”

“Ok, Peter. I must warn you that you are dangerously low on web fluid. You used a lot traveling to Brooklyn.”

The Spiderling sighed. “Parker Luck” was inescapable, apparently.

Karen illuminated a path for Peter to follow and he began the slow and painful journey back to the Queens apartment. Every single fiber of his being was begging him to stop.

Each time he raised his arm to shoot a web, he was pretty sure he reopened the wound and was being ripped into two. He didn’t want to waste web fluid reinforcing his makeshift bandage and just prayed the web would hold. As each agonizing moment passed, Peter could feel himself weakening. Usually, he could swing at for hours without breaking a sweat, but now he was so out of breath that he had to keep stoping, clinging to the sides of buildings or perching on rooftops to pause and catch his breath. Even though Karen was illuminating the path ahead of him, it was hard to follow; his brain felt so fuzzy and his eyesight was blurring miserably. More than once, Peter had lost his stronghold and almost plummeted down to the street below, but managed to catch himself at the last second.

Stopping for a break on another rooftop, Peter gulped in air. He was so cold, but also sweaty. And he was so so dizzy. He paused, gripping the wall for support. He was gonna puke, and there was no stopping it this time. Peter ripped off his mask and fell to his knees emptying his stomach on the floor.

“Ugh,” Peter sank to his side, clutching his stomach. This day was the worst. It had been so good and now it was a terrible, awful, horrible, no good, very bad day.

‘No, not a bad day,’ Peter thought to himself, remembering MJ’s smirk. ‘Just a bad half-day, which is an important distinction.’ Taking a shaky breath, he pushed himself up to his feet. The thought of putting his mask back on was suffocating. Peter opted to finish his trek home without it on, at least for a little while. Maybe the feeling of fresh air on his face would help him feel better.

He looked around, trying to get a sense of his surroundings. Down the road, he could make out the fuzzy outline of trees. He knew this part of Brooklyn. Ben had taken him out to Prospect Park many times for a fun Saturday afternoon. They had fed the ducks. Peter smiled sadly at the memory. Could he get home from here? Yes he could. No problem.

Peter webbed sloppily away, clutching his mask in his hand. He didn’t even notice when the mask slipped from his hands and got carried away by the wind somewhere far behind him. Without Karen to guide him, Peter got lost. He was pretty sure he saw that building before and he _definitely_ passed that deli. Karen had assured that he would have just enough web fluid to get home, but now that his path home appeared to be in a loop-de-loop pattern, he wasn’t so sure.

As Peter reached out to web to the next building, he was met with an empty click from his web shooters instead of the usual _thWIP_.

Suddenly the ground came up to meet him very fast.

\---------

 

When Peter came to, he found himself blinking at the stars. That was weird. He looked down to find himself in his suit, laying face up on the rooftop of a low building.

“Karen?” He called softly. There was no answer. He grabbed at his face to feel the mask, but soon realized it was no longer there.

  
Why was here? What was the last thing he could remember? He remembered seeing Prospect Park and swinging through the streets and then suddenly plunging towards the ground.

Ok, so no Karen, no problem. He could get home. He was going to sit up to check where he was, but found he didn’t have the strength to lift himself up. He felt so lightheaded and tired, as if someone had drained all the energy out of him. Not to mention it felt like someone had whacked him over the head with a baseball bat.

Prospect Park was the last location he remembered, so that was where he should start. He fumbled for his phone, lifting it weakly to his face. The bright light from the phone was blinding and Peter winced.

“Ack no too bright, too bright,” he mumbled hoarsely at the device while frantically trying to dim the light.  
Once he had unlocked the phone, he blinked at it dully. What was he doing again?

He started the mental checklist over agin: Not home. Want to go home. Last place I remember? Prospect Park. So Prospect Park to home.

He needed--what’s the word--that thing that gets you from one place to the other. It tells you what to do. It’s a little straightforward on the delivery. But is overall helpful. MJ?

_Not helpful, Peter._

He needed the roads app thingy to show him the little blue line home. Now if only he could find it. The screen was blurry and just looking at the phone’s bright light made Peter want to puke. Plus, this annoying red stuff kept smearing all over the screen whenever Peter touched it and it was making it very difficult to read. So rude.

Peter knew he had only one option now, and unlike before he wasn’t opposed to it. The world was spinning dizzily around him, the frigid cold was seeping into his bones, and while he didn’t want to worry Mr. Stark, he didn’t want to be lying all alone on this rooftop anymore either.

After a few failed attempts, he finally hit “Mr. Stark” on his phone’s favorite’s list.

With his head pounding along with each ring of the dial tone he waited.

“Hey Pete.”

There had never been anything Peter had been so glad to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a little longer :) hope you enjoy!


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Chapter 3 is here! Sorry its so short.

Tony flew over darkened apartment buildings and pedestrians stumbling home after a night out. He pushed his suit to go as fast as it could. F.R.I.D.A.Y. scanned the buildings for heat sensors. Since the spider bite, Peter ran a little cooler than everyone, because spiders are cold-blooded. Tony was running on the hope that his variant temperature would allow F.R.I.D.A.Y. to distinguish Peter from the thousands of others residing in Brooklyn.

Fear gripped at him. Over his flight here, he had called the kid four times, and each one went to voicemail.

“Boss, there is a heat signature that resembles Peter’s a couple blocks over. The temperature is significantly lower than Peter’s normal range, but it could be a match,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.

Tony raced ahead toward the possible locale. Up ahead he could see a figure laying limply on a roof, silhouetted by a dark red stain, the growing pool refracting the moonlight above.

Tony was pretty sure his heart stopped beating at that moment. He could make out the red and blue uniform he’d made himself. He’d included every safety measure he could think of, but now the thought of _I didn’t do enough_  stabbed through his heart, leaving him nauseous. He could see his kid, head tilted away from him. Peter’s body seemed twisted unnaturally; his ankle turned uncomfortably inward. A dark red stain covered his abdomen.

For a fraction of a second, Tony was frozen. Peter was lying so still. From Tony’s angle he couldn’t even see the rise and fall of his chest, if it was moving at all. If Peter was-- ...he couldn’t, he--- Tony couldn’t.

Tony had fought countless times. Had been knocked down and got up. He’d never met he’s match, until now. This would undo him. If Peter was dead, that would be Tony’s end too.

Then the fraction of a second was over, and Tony was racing towards Peter’s still form. Tony got out of his suit and crashed to his knees by Peter’s side. His pants were immediately stained red from the blood from where he kneeled. His shaking hands hovered over Peter. The boy looked so broken.

“Scan FRIDAY,” he gasped. His voice felt detached from his body.

The sight of Peter’s stomach made Tony sick and he tore his eyes away from the gruesome sight to look at Peter’s face. Peter’s eyes stayed closed and a line of dried blood trailed down from his mouth. His lips were loosely parted and Tony could see the red staining of his teeth. His hands, laid drooping by his side, sticky with congealed blood. A shattered phone lay just out of touch. The only thing giving Tony hope as FRIDAY made her scan, were the soft puffs of white clouds Peter made as he breathed. Peter was breathing. He was alive.

FRIDAY spoke. “Scan is complete. Peter has sustained a gunshot wound to the abdomen, four broken ribs on his right side, a broken ankle, multiple lacerations and contusions, and has lost a lot of blood. I also suspect he has a concussion. He needs immediate medical care and additional scans to determine if any of his organs were damaged by the gunshot. It appears that Mr. Parker attempted to staunch the blood flow by webbing his wound shut, but the webbing has shifted and he is loosing blood.”

Tony sucked in a sharp breath at the laundry list of injuries. He reached a hand up and carded it through Peter’s brown curls.

“Come on, Pete,” he said, as he pushed his sweaty hair from forehead. “Wake up, bud.” Tony tried shaking him gently by the shoulder. Peter shifted slightly at the movement and let out a groan. With another soft shake, his eyes slid open.

\---

Peter woke to a hand on his shoulder and pain radiating through his every cell. He could hear a voice calling his name, but it sounded so muffled, as if his head was filled with cotton. He felt so tired and he was 87.6% sure that his eyelids were being held closed by the Hulk or something. But the muffled voice reaching him sounded worried and Peter, especially after getting his powers, was basically hardwired to sense when something was wrong so he could fix it. So with a great effort, he opened his eyes.

He found himself blinking upwards at the haze of a night sky illuminated by city lights. The sound of a voice drew his attention to his left. He could see a figure hovering over him, but his eyes wouldn’t focus and he couldn’t see clearly and suddenly fear gripped him because _i_ _ts Toomes. Toomes is back to finish him. He’s half killed him and now he’s gonna actually kill him._

Peter’s breath caught in his throat, fear coiling like a rope around his lungs. He had to get away. He scrambling backwards, but the movement shot hot white pain through his body and he collapsed with a choked sob back down the floor. The movement made his body scream with pain. His heavy panicked breathing wasn’t helping matters. Each breath was a stab of pain from his broken ribs, but the pain caused panic and the panic caused him to not be able to control his breathing which was causing more pain and --

“Peter!” A voice broke through the white blanket of agonizing pain and panic. “Peter! It’s me. It’s Tony. You’re ok, you called me remember? I’m here.”  _Tony._ Tony was here. Not the stupid mugger. Not Toomes. _Tony_.

As the wave of pain died down, he felt so turned around and he looked around desperately for the source of Tony’s voice. He was so dizzy and couldn’t focus. Tony saw Peter’s desperation, eyes wide and frantic.

“Hey, hey,” He placed a calming hand on Peter’s chest to let him know where he was. His hand rose and fell rapidly with each strained breath Peter drew in. “Hey Pete, you’re alright. I’m right here.”

Peter made eye contact with him him, and much to Tony’s relief, visibly relaxed.

“M’st’r Stark?” He murmured, voice so low that Tony barely caught it. Tony let out a breath.

“Yeah Pete. It’s me. God, what happened to you?”

Peter shook his head, then winced slightly at the swell of pain the action caused. “I--I don’t remember. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t remember anything. His head was so dizzy it hurt to think. All he knew was that now he hurt, and it _sucked_. “I can’t remember. I-I...ugh, I don’t feel so good.”

“I know Pete. You really screwed the pooch on this one, but its ok, I’ve got ya. You’re gonna be ok.”

Pete blinked up tiredly at his mentor. “Okay,” he breathed.

“Alright, let’s get you outta here, Underoos. Time for some late night flying and a quick trip to the med bay to see our favorite green dude, who is hopefully not green at the moment.”

Tony surveyed the situation. He’d have to carry Peter and fly back with him to the compound. It was the fastest way. And time was of the essence. Peter had lost a lot of blood, and his slurred words and just total “out of it”-ness weren’t symptoms of a good diagnosis. Tony eased Peter into a sitting position. Peter winced slightly at the movement.

“Okay, bud, brace yourself.” He picked Peter up as gingerly as possible, slipping one arm under his knees and the other behind his back. Peter felt dizzy at the movement. Things were happening awful quick and he was having a hard time keeping up. It was like he was watching a movie but someone had taken out random intervals to leave a choppy incoherent narration behind.

Peter herd the repulsers fire up and all at once he was in the air. The abrupt change in altitude made him feel lightheaded. He rested his head against the arc reactor, appreciating both the coolness of the night air and the metal suit against his flushed cheek. Peter felt himself starting to drift to sleep. He was safe now from it all. Iron Man was here. Tony said he’d be ok. He let his eyes slip closed.

Tony glanced down at the limp form in his arms as he raced above the bright lights of the city. Peter’s eyes were closed.   
“Oh no you don’t, Spider-kid” he said as he gently jostled his mentee to wake him. The kids eyes fluttered back open. The extra movement aggravated his ribs and he coughed weakly, red flecks now dotting the arc reactor.

The sight was horrifying and Tony pushed the suit to go faster. This wasn’t the first time the arc reactor had been stained with blood. This was just the first time it wasn’t  _his_ blood.

Peter blinked at the blood, red against the glowing blue, and his eyes widened in realization. “Mr. St’rk I’m so s’rry,” he started hoarsely. “Didn’t mean to. Swear I didn’t. I’ll clean it up...I’m sorry, I’m--“

“Woah, woah, Underoos. Gosh kiddo you are _bleeding out_. Worry about yourself for once, will you? It’s ok. I’m not mad, ok? Nothing a little soap and water can’t fix.”

For the rest of the flight, Tony found himself whispering reassurances to a half-coherent kid. The mechanic knew it was imperative he keep Peter awake, so he kept talking in hopes it would give Peter something to latch on to. Peter continued to cough up blood, speckling the suit in red in between his raspy breaths.

Finally, Tony caught sight of the compound lights ahead. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Almost there bud.”

“Hurts,” Peter gasped weakly.

“I know, bud,” Tony replied softly, his heart breaking at Peter’s quiet admission. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
